


Butter Crisis and Butter Cries

by Mistu_Shipper



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Butter, Fluff, Funny, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Nordics, Stupidity Ensues, butter crisis, esp norway, i have no brain cells ok, i spend a whole month working on this., i will never stop making fun of this country for it I swear, like seriously dude of all problems to have, plus quarantine is awful I need someway to cope, seriously the Nordics are so fucking stupid, that. Is sad ok, they’re so stupid i love them, this has turned to me shaming norway for such a stupid thing, yes this is like all about the butter crisis, you have a fucking butter crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistu_Shipper/pseuds/Mistu_Shipper
Summary: December 2011–when the butter crisis hit Norway. See how the personified countries see this event in their own perspective, and how they deal.
Kudos: 20





	1. Eirkur’s Concern

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t vibe w canon names since they originate from biblical names, and not scandivian despite being… y'know so i used these:  
> norway: sigurd   
> iceland: eirikur  
> denmark: magnus

“Really Sigurd? You’re buying yet _another_ package of butter? Don’t you already have enough?” asked Sigurd’ younger brother.

He raised an eyebrow at the bountiful the man had already collected, as he positioned the strap of the leather bag to his side. He brushed his platinum blonde hair aside with his fingers, while he stared judgmentally at the elder Nordic. “Seriously, you bought like…” The Icelandic boy paused to look down and count his fingers for the worrying amount he had already purchased. After he had finished, he looked back up, goggled-eyed with his jaw dropped. He was flabbergasted.

For a moment, the nation was stunned into silence. No words were exchanged between the two siblings, just a stiffening atmosphere that seemed to fill the room. The younger brother only managed to break out of his trance when the sudden movement of his brother muffed the soft music playing in the shop. He shook his head disapprovingly, and frowned. 

“...Five packages. Do you really need anymore?” He finished. His voice was quiet, almost out of pure fear for his brother. 

The man named Sigurd dutifully ignored his brother’s illiberal comments about his buying habits with an eye roll. ‘I didn’t buy _that_ much,’ he wanted to protest. Instead, he gave the shopkeeper his 26.96 Norwegian krones, and forced a scoff down this throat. His glove slid the coins and paper money to the other side, where the woman took it. With a serene smile, she hummed to herself as she checked the item out with a scanner. It proceeded to get bagged before being slid back to the shopper. He took it by his hand, and thanked the woman with a small nod.

Wooden boards simultaneously creaked as he headed towards the sturdy, glass door. His little brother lagged behind him with a grumble. Over his shoulder, he heard the owner wishing them happy holidays while they exited the quaint wooden building. The bell echoed throughout the store, and into the cheery atmosphere below. 

The beginning of _Jul_ had arrived.

All over the town were soft fairy lights illuminating the streets and homes around them. They were of the shades of light purple and pastel pink, to go along with the holidays. Children went from house to house, as they sang loudly to their neighbors carol songs of Christmas cheer. Some were even decked completely in outfits of Shepherds and Wise Men, gleefully giggling to themselves. Wide smiles stretched across their faces, while they carried their paper stars around. They were practically glowing with felicity, standing out like newly grown buds in a snow-filled world. Absolutely wonderful to admire their shenanigans from afar, without interrupting the flow of nature, or this case, the chaos of children. He stared off to the side, where parents accompanied their kids, keeping a close eye of their business as they kept them out of trouble. 

The two brothers followed the same sidewalk as the local Norwegians, going in the opposite direction, away from the homely town. Some chilling breezes blew in the distance, reminding the two Nordic countries of the unfortunate freezing weather that always followed this time of year. The younger brother hugged himself as several more harsh winds rustled past him, tousling his hair in the process. Angry blue eyes glared up at the sky, and mumbled some Icelandic curse words, as if it was some old Norse god’s fault for this plight of endless snowstorms. Sigurd couldn’t help the sigh coming out of his mouth, as he discreetly moved towards the boy. He placed his arm on his shoulder, and pulled him closer against his own body to preserve heat. 

The young nation regarded his older brother, an eyebrow raised once more. Although he rolled his eyes and huffed at his behavior, the boy made no attempt to avoid his affection. Instead, he huddled up closer, and exhaled into the cool air around them, watching as his breath became a small cloud. He leaned his head back against the Norwegian’s shoulder while he stared up at the endless night sky. 

Faint traces stars twinkled brightly amongst the dark shades of purple and blue, much like the lights below them. Although light pollution made them dim and faded, they still were a sense of beauty in the eyes of the beholder. Their brightness was like the promise of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from the cold. Much like the little snowflakes blanketing the homes and buildings around them, always everywhere. Subtle, but beautiful. That was the magic known in the holiday of Jul.

Sigurd was the first one to interrupt the calm silence between them. He would’ve apologized if not the topic for the conversation they were going to have. “I got you something, Eirikur.” He moved away from his brother as he retrieved the gift from his bag. “It’s for _Adventsgaver_. As tradition expects, I have to give my baby brother a gift each day for the coming of Christ,” He said dramatically. The Norwegian pulled out some chocolates, and offered it to the young nation. “Unfortunately, we don’t see each other as often as I would like. So, I decided to buy the whole bag instead. To make up for the days we’ll be apart.” With a traceable smile, he told the nation, “Happy feasting. Enjoy your sweets.”

Eirikur acted much like a typical teenager of this era when their parents were being overbearing. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment while his hands fidgeted inside his pockets. He eyed the candy hungrily, much like a kid planning to steal from the cookie jar. Even though he scoffed his trademark retort of, “I’m not a child!” he eagerly took the bountiful chocolate and stuffed it into his own bag. He only paused his movement when he noticed the rest of the bags Sigurd carried. His hand went down to his side, and he gawked at the bags. “What’s the rest filled with? More gifts for the Nordics?” He questioned. “You didn’t need to go Christmas shopping that early, y'know. We have three more weeks.” The man merely shook his head in response. “Then, what is it?”

“Butter.”

Eirikur blanched at his answer. His eyes were wide in utter disbelief while his mouth laid agape. “N-no way! You practically bought the whole aisle at that store! What do you need the rest for?” He spluttered. He began to back away in shock. “Baking? You can’t be baking _that_ much, right?” 

Sigurd merely raised an eyebrow at his brother’s theatrical reaction. “Have you not read the news back at your place? There’s this new trend going around. The low carb, high fat diet. And butter is rich in that. My neighbors and I need it for all recipes here,” He explained simply to his brother, to which he scoffed once more, this time in disbelief. 

“You don’t need _that_ much though!” To emphasise his point, Eirikur pointed at his abundant amount already placed in his bags. “Who’s going to need _three_ bags of butter? That’s absolutely ridiculous, even for someone like you.” He huffed into his scarf, while giving a judgmental look to his brother. “With the amount you’re buying, you’re going to give stores a run for their money by the end of this week. Pretty soon, your whole nation will run out of butter,” He scolded the elder nation. Under his breath, Sigurd heard the mumbled words of, “And _he’s_ supposed to be the older brother.” 

“You worry too much, Eirikur,” replied Sigurd. His deadpan face didn’t reflect the knot of anxiety beginning to pool in his stomach. He quelled the feeling down, the hunch that this was the start of a snowball effect that would destroy his nation, his home. “It’ll be fine, I promise you.” He ignored the disbelieving, pointed stare his brother gave him as he started to walk off to the direction of the town again. The bags in his hand crinkled at each step he took, while he feigned an unconcerned attitude. He’d have to hurry back home so he could properly freeze them again. “Now c'mon, little bro.” He urged his brother. “We don’t want to miss your flight back to Reykjavik, do we?” Behind him, another sigh was released. He heard his brother once again have another round of mumbled Icelandic swears before he raced after him, carefully crushing out the layers of mounting snow beneath. 

Later that night, when Sigurd had dropped off his brother at the Trøndheim Airport and arrived back home, he began to prepare for the first Sunday. After he closed the door, hung his navy blue coat, and placed his goods in the fridge, he reached into one of the kitchen drawers to get the lighter. The Norwegian scooted over to the dining table, and flicked the tool on. Normally, his roommate would join him at the table, but he arrived much too late to do this Norewegian tradition tonight. Perhaps next week, they would both do this. 

He carefully watched as a small fire came out, blending in with the rest of the lights in the complex. Carefully, his hand inched closer and closer to the first taper. He placed the lighter to the wick of the candle, before he flicked the tool off. The Norwegian watched as the flame grew in size, changing from its dark reds and oranges to its bright, almost luminescent glow of yellow. He turned the rest of the lights in the house off to truly see the magic of the candle. 

Now alone, the pink taper glowed brightly against the darkness of the room. Narrow streaks of moonlight casted from the windows certainly helped it's surreal effect it had on the nation. It was like any other candle; it had it’s orange flame, blackening wick and pooling wax. The faint scent of smoke even was released by the flame. The main difference was the large size, towering over any of his normal scent-smelling candles that the Norwegian owned. It practically overshadowed the rest in its wake. Sigurd rested his head against the table near the stick, letting out a yawn. He lazily tapped the glass underneath the candle, watching the supporting case shook against his touch. On the side of the wall, the clock ticked all the way to twelve. The first Sunday of _Adventsgaver_ had passed.

The man rubbed his eyes and yawned. He glanced at the time, at the warning of the late hour. Normally, he would have headed off to his bed, to rest up and prepare for the threat that was known as “tomorrow” but thoughts kept him wide awake at the middle of the night. His brother’s words echoed throughout his head, reminding him of his anxieties. 

He stood up from his seat, and headed towards the fridge. Inside, his eyes darted warily at the carton of milk and nearby deep-fried butter wrapped sitting neatly. He took both from their compartment, and poured the milk into a cup that was on the table. Quietly, he began to take sips of milk while eating small chunks of the oily food. The snack tasted like pure lightness in his mouth. Utterly delicious. America was right, it was surprisingly good despite the abundance of butter. He had to get the full recipe later in the next world meeting—whenever that was. 

He stopped chewing. He had thought of the word “butter” once again. No matter what he did, it seemed he couldn’t stop avoiding his favorite ingredient. Perhaps Emil was right, perhaps he DID have an unneeded obsession with the food. Whether that would contribute to a crisis was another matter altogether—a matter that would not occur at all, of course. He refused to let that happen. If it was the last thing he’d do, then mark his words, Sigurd would prevent it. He forcefully chewed on the deep-fried butter once more, ignoring his sudden lack of an appetite. The jitters and mutters of his citizens echoed throughout his head, as he slammed his head against the table with a groan. The voices were too goddamn _loud_. The sounds were much like an ambulance coming closer and closer, their loud horns becoming louder and louder. It gave the man a headache.

Abruptly, he stood up from his chair, and pushed it aside. Sigurd marched to the fridge, and tore the door open. Inside laid the packages of butter, all six of them for him and his roommate to share. Some of them would be distributed to his neighbors, of course, but the majority of it was for them.

That would last throughout the week, Sigurd swore to himself.

He took a large sigh, releasing the tension from his soldiers. Slowly, the fridge was closed shut. The man rubbed his tired eyes once more, and walked off to the direction of his room. He was fine, despite the worries and concerns of his citizens. Absolutely fine, he told himself while flipping the blanket onto himself. Nothing bad would happen, the man repeated the mantra, as he forced his eyes shut. He could continue his life normally as possible, with no worry. As he drifted off to sleep, the voices of his citizens soon faded to background noise, only mere noises in his head. 


	2. Sigurd’s Plight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd tries to go shopping—chaos follows.

Contrary to what Sigurd repeatedly told himself a week ago, things were not doing so fine. He had absolutely _everything_ to worry about. 

Although he had reiterated his mantras to dull down the panic of his citizens, it still lingered in his mind. If anyone went outside, they could practically see it on the streets. Everywhere, people went in and out of shops, impulsively buying two of three packages each in a bag they carried. From mothers with children, to teenagers and their own allowances, everyone was stocking up on the delicious treat. The Norwegian normally would copy their shopping behaviors, but the urges of his Icelandic brother and his own paranoia prevented the personification from indulging in this habit. 

The urges of his citizens often made one’s mind irrational, especially during Jul season. He could never forget the frenzy that America had when he went Christmas shopping. It was insane, almost admirable even. Holidays often make people go into a tizzy, and what else is a personification to do but follow their behavior? Their people and their country come first after all. That was their way as nations, despite how much willpower they own. 

So when the next Sunday rolled by, the man went off to finally participate in this shopping spree. Besides, his roommate and neighbors quickly used the supply of butter he had already bought, and were urging him to get more. 

As soon as he entered the store, the sounds of people wailing echoed throughout. Groans of anger often followed said noise. His eyebrow flicked up, while his grip on the cart tightened. Feelings of uncertainty clenched in his stomach. He strolled up to where they gathered, and looked up. In the fridge laid barren upon barren rows of butter. Only a few places were there scattered containers of the ingredient. The price underneath ranked all the way to NOK 300, a much higher cost than originally intended. His eyes widened in shock, while a gasp came out. He brought his hand to his mouth, while a horrified expression covered his face. 

The Norwegian walked over to one of his citizens, and tapped their shoulder. She turned, with crossed arms across her chest. Her face was full of annoyance and confusion, while an eyebrow was raised high. He straightened himself before asking, “What happened here exactly? Why is there so little butter?”

Her face softened considerably, while she faced the empty aisles again. “Vi har gått tom for smør,” she muttered. We ran out of butter. A sigh came out of her mouth, as she explained the situation. “People were panicking about running out of butter, so they bought all of it till there was little left. Now prices are expensive. A lot of people here are blaming the farmers, who are blaming _Tino_ , who are blaming the bad weather. It’s just an endless cycle of blaming.” She adjusted her bag while strands of hair fell onto her face. “I’m not sure who’s really at fault,” She admitted to her fellow Norewegian. She clicked her tongue. “Just that it’ll be one sad, sad Christmas.” 

Another customer who overheard their conversation headed over, and nodded in agreement. “My grandma keeps on complaining that she won’t be able to make her special Lussekatter buns or Christmas biscuits. There isn’t enough butter to make those.”

As the two women conversed with one another, Sigurd discreetly slipped out of the store. His head hung low while he crossed the streets, and cars passed by with their fumes. His curl drooped to suit his melancholy mood. From his peripheral vision, his citizens were doing the same.

Their faces were filled with grief, and their shoulders sagged. Their bags were practically touching the ground as they trudged to their homes in disappointment. The oncoming crowd of gray clouds certainly didn’t help the gloomy atmosphere around them. Droplets splattered onto the coats of everyone outside, covering them in wetness. Those very same droplets quickly turned to hail as the weather became harsher. 

Sigurd was only able to narrowly escape it by the thread of his coat. He dashed over to his apartment building, and shoved the key in. He rushed upstairs to his complex, and knocked the door open. His roommate swung the door open with a sigh. 

“Not able to get anything?” 

Sigurd shook his head in response. “Not at all, Esp. I could go to the next store after the rain stops—“

Said man called ‘Esp,‘ just sighed. “It's Espen, first of all,” he mumbled under his breath. The slight roll of his eyes and puff of his cheeks reminded the Nordic familiarly of his Icdlandic brother. He watched as the man let his shoulders sag, and stuffed his hands to his pockets. Lips were chewed for a moment, before he told him, “And it’s alright, you don’t have to go, Sigurd. The other stores are probably the same case.” He ran his hand through his hair, as he said, “To be honest, my family hasn’t had much luck either.” 

To demonstrate his point, he brought his phone out of his pocket to Sigurd’s face, and presented his messages. In nearly all of his contacts, were people messaging him the same thing: Vi har gått tom for smør. We ran out of butter. Again and again, the same words were repeated in their native language. The man brought his phone down with a sigh, a sad expression on his face. He pouted his lips.

“Awful, right? And just when I was planning to go on a diet—“

A loud ping came out of the device. The phone vibrated in his hand as he stopped talking. Espen brought the phone to his eye level, and his eyes widened in excitement. Looking up to Sigurd, he announced, “My Swedish friend texted me! They’re willing to give us butter at the southeastern border of Svinesund!” An expression of pure adoration appeared on his face, while he smiled softly. “They’re great, aren’t they?” He mumbled more to himself rather than the Norwegian next to him. 

Sigurd had to hold back a chuckle as he listened to his roommate ramble on and on. He always forgot how pure mortals’ love for each other could be, even in the most perilous of times. His head tilted while he gave a small smile. His eyes gazed at the man curiously, observing his behavior. Humans and their love. Matters of the heart were never an easy matter (certainly for nations such as themselves) but they were always so _intriguing_. In his eyes, humanity’s most notable moments were not of violence and war, but the soft interactions in between. The soft, sweet, glances of a lovers exchange, or the protective hugs from mothers to their children. Those were Sigurd’s favorite moments of mankind, and his heart couldn’t help but melt whenever he witnessed them. 

And it was the case for other nations too. Each Nordic couldn’t help but look affectionately at their people when examples of love were shown throughout their homes. Their heads would tilt to the side, while a small, fond, smile would always gracefully trace their lips. It was because they saw their people, the beings that gave them life and reason to even exist, as children of them, or a part of them in some way.

Humans... were complicated beings, with their multifaceted countries representing that. With all their flaws and greediness, and goddamn _stupidity_ , they could be hard to love. In spite of that, personifications couldn’t help but see their people in the better light, to try to see the positive aspects after everything that happened. Even more bitter nations, such as Romano or England would soften up their crusty exterior to show their soft spot for these beings. They were the life forms that gave them life, after all. No matter how… much humans could get. 

With humans being the main subject on his mind, Sigutf looked back up to his roommate. His response to the stare of amusement was that of a shy, stray, chuckle, with redness adorning his cheeks. “Sorry about that, got carried away. Do you think you’ll be able to meet them Wednesday?” At Sigurd’s blank expression, he clarified, “I’d usually go and meet them, but I’m stumped with an important meeting from my company on that day. Espen scratched his cheeks. An awkward laugh came from the young adult. “Sorry about that—I know your job involves foregin relations, and it must be exhausting to constantly travel from country to country with no break, and I feel bad about asking abo—“

The nation held up a hand to pause his rambling. “Relax,” he told his citizen. “Did you forget I also want butter this Christmas?” A raised eyebrow. “I thought you knew we had the same goal in mind. So don’t worry about it. I’ll get it for us, I promise.”

Espen cracked a smile at his reassuring words. “You mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His smile stretched across his entire face, to where looking at it physically hurts the Norwegian from his cheerfulness. A breathless laugh came from the young man. “Tha-that’s great! Thank you so much. You’re the best roommate I ever had.” Like the sun in the sky, he beamed. 

“I’m the only roommate you’ve ever had.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still the best to me.” The young adult looked over to the table, where the candles laid unlit. He walked over to the furniture, before beckoning Sigurd over. “Now c’mon here. We may not have our butter, but we still have our _Adventsgiver_ traditions. Help light up the candles with me.”

And with the Norewegain joining him, they lit the two candles together to the second Sunday of December, watching as it glowed shades of fiery reds and even bits of blue against the setting colors of the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally, i see sigurd who can’t stand to be alone, no matter what. he has to be around someone, or he just feels. Alone, and he doesn’t like that. he’s always been living with someone throughout history, from denmark to iceland to even sweden, he’s always with someone. suddenly living alone wouldn’t be. The easiest thing. plus, having someone to distract you from your thoughts would be nice, and espen does just that :)


	3. Berwald’s Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd attempts to get butter across the border. It doesn’t go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sweden: berwald

When Wednesday rolled around, the personification decided to take the taxi to get there. The vehicle slowly moved across the long-winded road, pausing every few seconds for the traffic that occurs on the bridge. Fumes spewed out of the car every couple of seconds as it traveled, adding to the high amount of pollution that machines already contributed. The Norewegain wrinkled his nose in disgust, and turned his head towards the window. He sighed, as his eyes scanned the tides of the _sound_ beneath them.

Ships and boats float across the surface, while sun’s rays are casted amongst the waters, reflecting its vibrant, nearly luminescent hues. He could practically smell the scent of saltwater through the glass. He tapped it, mulling over thoughts. Had the bridge had not been constructed, he would have used a boat of some kind to get to the other country. No matter his high dislike of the pollution cars made at this bridge, it certainly did make traveling much easier. 

The car moved once more, spluttering out coughs of gas in the distance. Finally, they crossed the Svinesund bridge connecting the Norewegian municipality of Halden and Swedish municipality of Strömstad together. Both the driver and the passenger paid the toll fee that was expected of them, and the custom duties. The driver then went off to park the vehicle, letting out a sigh. He opened the car door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. The Norewegain raised an eyebrow, to which they shrugged, and flipped out their leather wallet. Their arms were crossed, and they stared at him defensively, as if he was judging the man’s actions.

“You’re not the only one who comes to buy cheap goods from Sweden. Especially when there’s no _goddamn_ butter.” He said the last few words with a touch of scorn, and a dark expression covering their face. He huffed angrily, while he muttered, “Stuoid government, and their tariffs. Now other Nordic countries won’t even export their shit to us. Screw them.” He kicked a nearby rock, while he stuffed his hands into his pocket. 

The citizen’s own rage affected his own mood. Sigurd tightened the grip of his hand, while he walked over to the nearby market. When he entered, the smell of freshly baked goods greeted his nose. He took a deep breath, and inhaled all the wonderful smells of the shopping area.

The wonderful scents distracted him from his impending frustration that he strongly felt mere minutes ago. He let himself get lost in the scenery, listening to the chattering amongst the friendly Swedes that quickly became background noise. He watched as smiles were scattered across people’s faces, and krones were exchanged. From his ear, the sounds of foreign languages like Swedish, English, and most commonly, Norwegian echoed throughout the place. That was to be expected, especially from a place so close to the border. The Swedish market was always the most delightful thing, exporting the most quality items.

Sigurd looked down at his watch. 2:40 PM, it read. He had five minutes to find who he was looking for at their meeting place. 

His hand shuffled in his front pocket, searching for the note his roommate had given to him. He raised the slip of paper to his face. On the note, it was written: “Meet them at Pågen. Search for a blonde-haired androgynous person. They’ll be waiting at you at the entrance of the store, when they should have... fika, I think it’s called? I think it’s like a Swedish break—anyway, don’t be late! ;D” 

He brought the note down from his face, and back into his pocket. His eyes darted from store to store, wondering where the famous Swedish bakery was located. Did they move the location? It _has_ been awhile since Sigurd last shopped here. Meetings always got busy the last few months, especially when school started again. He always had to discuss education with the government again. Productive, sure, but utterly exhausting. The man released a long-winded sigh, letting him relax in the process.

He shielded his eyes from the pouring sunlight while scanning the area for the person his roommate mentioned. The man held out a frustrated sigh as his search dragged on, becoming more fruitless as the minutes passed by. How hard was it to spot one mere Swede in a goddamn shopping center? It shouldn’t take this long. Sigurd let out a groan as he rubbed his eyes. 

He blinked tiredly, almost letting the large letters across the shopping area go unnoticed. His eyes wearily looked up, and there on the top of the store, he spotted the words, “Pågen.” The store he was going to meet his roommate's friend.

Quickly, he speedwalked to the entrance of the shop. Just in time to catch the person, who was in the process of turning around. They looked up to them in surprise at their abrupt speed, before their opened mouth shifted to that of a frown. They leaned against the edge of the wall, one leg crossed over the other. They ran their hand through their hair, before fixating the Norewegian with brown eyes narrowed with disapproval. Irritation was written all over their freckled face. 

“You’re late,” they tut-tutted in English. “I have less than a minute before fika is over.” They pointed to the clock. He opened his mouth to protest, to which the Swede merely brought their hand to stop them. “Nuh-uh. No excuses. I have a lot of customers. Especially since the crisis hit.” They watched in amusement as Sigurd’s mouth closed and clenched his teeth with annoyance. His eyebrows furrowed in distress. Silently, he fumed. Difficult Swedes and their strict work schedule. It reminded familiarly of the Swedish personification, and his own annoyingly endearing quirks. 

Suddenly, an idea hit him. Sigurd took a deep breath, and forced a neutral expression onto his face. “Wait,” He called. The worker paused their movement. They raised an eyebrow, as if urging him to continue. “I have a proposal to make. I’ll trade 100 NOK for the butter, and buy something from the store.” The Swede didn’t budge. He sighed loudly, and sagged his shoulders. His head was lowered down, while a hand rested on his forehead to add more of a dramatic effect. To make his bargain more convincing, he added, “Think of what your friend will feel. He’ll go hungry without butter.” His half-lidded eyes flickered to see the Swede’s conflicted face. “Do you want that?”

Their mouth opened wide, about to protest. They paused for a moment, struggling to find the right words to counter his argument. The Norwegian looked off to the side, removing his clip to let his hair fall onto his face. That way, the Swede couldn’t see the small smirk that formed on his face. 

Finally, the worker gave in with a huff of anger. “Fine,” they sniffed, crossing their arms over their apron. “This is only for _him_ , and him _only_ , so don’t even think about taking _any_ of the butter,” they warned. Another groan came from the person, before they swung the door open with a drawn out sigh.

Inside, the bell ringed with a soft chime, echoing throughout the stores. His boots made soft clicking noises against the pastel tiles of the floor. Heads momentarily turned to the direction of the sound, before going back to their coffees and snacks. The faint trace of caffeine filled throughout the whole shop, even reaching Sigurd’s nose. He took the smell in, before releasing it with a whistle. The man walked up over to the counter, where the worker was now behind. They gestured to the sweets displayed below, and tapped their feet, impatiently, humming to the tune of _Jeopardy_. He made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes at the cashier, before pointing randomly to one of the sweets. 

“Lussekatter buns,” they muttered. “Good choice.” They bagged up the sweet, and placed it onto the counter. “Hold on,” they told him. “I’ll go get the butter.” Cue them exiting the back doors behind them, before arriving back with two boxes of butter. “Tell Espen to enjoy,” they softly said. For the first time, a small, miniscule smile appeared on their usual, irritated face. Everyone had their soft spots, Sigurd supposed. Even the bitter ones. He took the bag from the worker, and gave them his krones. A thank you came out his mouth, before he left the sweet-smelling bakery with a slight skip to his step.

Time quickly passed, and once again, the Norewegian met with its driver. The man looked down at the bags with approval glinting in their eyes. They nodded at him with a smirk, mumbling some words akin to, “show those Swedes,” before allowing them to enter with the opening of car doors. Sigurd slid into his seat, and placed the small dessert by his side. Hands grabbed the belt, and placed the buckle over his body. Adjusted the collar of his black winter coat, before he looked up to the rear mirror. The driver caught his eye, and pressed on the pedal. The Norwegian listened to the twisting of the key as the car engine roared back to life. The driver twisted the wheel, and began parking out. They crossed a couple of lonesome roads, before they ended up on the new bridge of Svinesund, back to where home would be on the other side. 

Traffic was exhaustingly slow on the bridge, especially during the afternoon, where everyone’s jobs would be finished at this time. Cars would go a few inches across the main road, before they paused so they could wait for the next person to move again. It was tedious, and a boring process to sit through. To entertain himself, Sigurd rhythmically tapped his fingers against the glass, blowing out wind to make whistling noises. His breath fogged the window up amidst the freezing Nordic weather while he tugged aimlessly on his scarf. Mindlessly, he placed his clip back onto his hair, his eyes drifting lazily across the water underneath.

The waves lapped against the bridge, splashing the strong structure. It was mesmerizing to watch amidst the slow activity on the bridge. He almost would have fallen asleep watching the waves go, if not for the annoyingly loud beeping from behind.

Wait, beeping?

The car came to an abrupt stop. Sigurd jerked from the sudden pull of gravity, gripping the handle to keep his balance. His bag fell onto the floor with a thump. From his peripheral vision, he spotted the driver clenched the steering wheel tightly, as he mumbled certain choice words under his breath. Sigurd sat upright from his seat, an expression of pure bewilderment written all over his face. His face was ghostly white from the sudden noise. Where was the beeping even coming from? Hastily, he turned behind him to see a car trailing behind them, shiny and sleek. His eyes widened in recognition, before they narrowed into slits. A sickening feeling came to his guts as he glared at the people driving, and their lackluster response. 

It was the goddamn custom police. 

From the side, he heard the driver letting out more curse words out of his mouth, while staring out the back window. His own beliefs impacted the Norwegian’s own, as Sigurd watched the man’s mouth formed into a scowl. Suddenly, an intense longing hit him to his very core while he crouched down to get the fallen bag. He wanted to reconsider not joining the Union. Screw the government and its agreements with its parties to not discuss anything EU related.

If he was a part of said group, then he wouldn’t have such strict restrictions on the amount of goods he could carry. And he certainly wouldn’t be stopped by the treacherous custom police, for the matter. With an annoyed huff, he took the bag by the handle, before he stood up on his feet to open the door. It flung open, and Sigurd stood up to come out of the man’s car. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the driver crossing his arms angrily, refusing to meet the gaze of the custom officers out of pure, utter, spite.

Well. Sigurd certainly wasn’t as petty. Despite his grievances of the matter, he understood that they were merely doing their job as officers, and he couldn’t fault him for that. So, he turned his head to their direction, and gestured vaguely to their vehicle. As the two officers exited their own car, and came upon the Norewegians’, recognition hit him like a ball to the face. The light blonde hair, bright blue-green eyes, and his heavy navy blue coat. A serious expression always remained on his face, with the occasional twinkle in his eye. Nary a hair strand out of place, the tall man stood there, seemingly looking down at his wrist to check the time. The Swede blinked his eyes tiredly, as he pushed his glasses up.

“Berwald,” Sigurd started. “I didn’t know you’d be here.” His mouth was agape.

The personification of Sweden turned. He raised an eyebrow at him, while his hand went to his side. “Same goes for you, Sigurd. Heard ‘bout the crisis. Didn’t think you’d be desperate enough to smuggle butter across the border.” 

The Norwegian opened his mouth to protest, but the driver had beaten him to it. “We’re not! We got it with our own money so you can’t just—“ They paused, struggling to find their words. “You can’t just take it!” the human spluttered out. “Your country isn’t even helping us!”

The Swede gave his blank, intimidating, stare, famously known to cause others to back away in fear. “S’not our fault that a nation can’t keep track of how much butter they need. We’re not to blame for Norway’s crisis.” 

“Please Berwald,” The aforementioned personification spoke up. Said Berwald turned to face the Nordic. He pushed up his glasses, which glistened in the sunlight. It covered his entire face, preventing anyone from being able to guess what he truly felt about the topic. “Is it really too much for you to spare us just a little bit of butter?” He pressed, stepping up towards the Swede. “My citizens won’t have enough this year to use for Christmas. You know how much food mean to them at this time of year. Christmas just isn’t the same without it.” Another step. “Please Berwald,” He begged again, his voice softer. 

No longer was there the deadpan Norewegian everyone assumed. He was filled with hope—the hope that his citizens would receive aid from their fellow Nordic countries. The hope that they will get enough butter to make their favorite meals this year. The hope that they would be able to celebrate Christmas properly. 

Hope.

For a moment, Berwald was caught off guard. His mouth laid agape for a second, and he paused. He bit his lips, as if he was considering his words. A moment passed, and then another. Just as Sigurd was about to speak up again, the Swede opened his mouth.

“No.” 

The driver fell to silence, a frown on his lips. He casted his head downwards, and refused to watch as the custom officers robbed them of their finest material. Bound to his citizens and his people Sigurd copied his actions, his eyes drifting to the man’s hands. The nation watched as he clenched his hands tightly, while the man trembled with all the anger and frustration one could have about the crisis. Berwald was right—it wasn’t his fault, nor his responsibility. But that didn’t mean it made it any less frustrating, or embarrassing for the matter, to be in such a financial crisis. With a sigh, he lifted his head upright as the car sped away with their stash of butter, into the other side. He brought his phone out, and texted his roommate of the unfortunate news before placing it back in his pocket. 

Slowly, he trudged back to the car, with the driver waiting with his head resting on the wheel. They went off the bridge, back to Norway, without a package of butter in sight. The butter crisis still continued. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smök-panik - butter crisis


	4. Tino’s Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some attempted bargaining occurs between the men for some good ol’ fashioned butter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finland: tino

Without the internet and the personification of Finland, the two men would never have been able to the personification of Finland

It started with Sigurd and his roommate being in the living room together, each doing their own thing. The Norwegian had government papers to do, constantly writing confidential documents, and reading through trade agreements. Just normal chores countries such as themselves had to do for their people. Tedious, but important nonetheless. Unfortunately, those affirmations still didn’t stop the sigh coming from his mouth, or the droop of his curl. He clicked his pen repeatingly, almost as if it was some sort of entertainment amidst the bucket load of paperwork the government assigned. 

One would think the president of Norway would let the representation have a break, but that does not seem to be the case for Sigurd. He pinched with the bridge of his nose while massaging his forehead with the sigh of his. If there was any modern inconvenience that Sigurd did not enjoy, it was the ridiculous amount of time for paperwork that nations had to do just for their countries. He would always put his people first, without a doubt, but he often wished that came without the endless work. 

To distract himself from doing his duties, he focused his attention towards the man sitting next to him. With the brunette's computer on the same table, Espen stared at his screen, aimlessly scrolling through the confusion known as social media. From the Norewegian’s pheriphal vision, he could spot his roommate aimlessly checking and liking family members and friends’ Facebook photos, barely even admiring some of the nicer photos taken. From the subdued expression on his face, to the sagging of his shoulders, it was obvious the man was deeply upset by the bridge incident. There was no chatter or rambling from the man today about his work or hobbies. Just this utterly dull, bitter, silence, much to Sigurd’s chagrin. 

Absolutely boring, and much too quiet for a Saturday.

To Sigurd’s delight, that all changed when his roommate had found the _post._

His brown eyes widened in surprise, before he tapped Sigurd with a broad grin stretching across his face. The nation raised his eyebrow, to which he pointed to his computer screen. “Look!” His roommate said. He tapped the screen eagerly. “There’s a link from this Finnish user—something about butter auctions in the… finn.no?” For a moment, the man’s face appeared lost. “It seems cool though! We might have a chance of getting some, after all!”

Normally, the Norewegain would think more rationally. An unexplained link with no information behind it really does make for a suspicious case. And the smug Snufkin profile picture certainly didn’t help either in making this Facebook user trustable. One could never trust Moomin fans. But, Sigurd could hear the calls of his citizens, asking, no, begging for the bucketloads of butter. It was countering his own anxieties and distrust of electronics, his inability to get adjusted to the modern day and age.

He bit his lips anxiously, while he felt his mouth moving to make the sounds of, “Get our wallets. We’ll be entering this competition.” Ignored the surprised look of his citizen, and his quick steps to their rooms. He placed his fingers on the mousepad, and clicked on the link.

They were in. 

Nearby footsteps echoed into the living room again, and his roommate crouched down to give the Norwegian his wallet. Sigurd opened it, and quickly placed in his credit card information before becoming part of the main group chat. He proceeded to move aside, letting the millennial handle the device.

While the nation was not aware exactly of what the man does for work, what he did know was it was heavily involved with computers and electronics, so the man would be an expert in using devices such as these, or least much more than the former Viking would be. Squished to his roommate, Sigurd peered at the screen from their side. The auction would begin. 

At the bottom of the group chat, the latest message appeared. It seemed like the host had just listed the starting price. 30 NOK. A reasonable amount for some good ol’ fashioned butter. 

Espen looked up at him in guidance, much like a child would to their elder. He chewed their lips anxiously. “Should we place more money or…?”

Sigurd shook his head. Experience has helped him become a master in his trade. Bargaining had become a breeze for him at this point, especially when one lived for so long. “We wait until the moment is right to strike. Then no one will try to one-up you. That’s how you get the best deal,” He explained. His roommate nodded, and focused their attention back on the laptop.

The two of them watched as the prices continued to go up. From 30 NOK to 40, to 50, the cost soared higher and higher. They watched as people messaged in the groupchat, entering in their prices as their credit card money went down the drain. Occasionally, they’d offered a few extra dollars of their own, always ending in 0s and 5s. As they wrote in amounts, the Norewegian couldn’t help the small, barely traceable smirk appearing on his face as he waited for the chance to write his amount.

He tapped the table aimlessly, humming a soft, cheerful melody which discreetly expressed his delight at this matter. His roommate on the other hand wasn’t doing as well. Their head kept on turning left and right, from the screen to Sigurd, and back again. They squeezed their hands while they waited for the right time to make their move. One more anxious glance at the Norewegian, till Sigurd sighed and nodded. 

It was time to truly enter in their amount.

His roommate moved aside for the Norwegian, letting him take control of the auction. He had more experience in these sorts of things anyway, especially from his long, thousand years of time. His eyes drifted down to the current amount. 95 Norwegian krones. A much larger amount than before, but still measible. Silently, he decided on a reasonable amount that the two of them would be willing to pay, and crossed his fingers for good luck. Quickly, he typed in the amount. 

209.9 NOK.

For a moment, there was a long pause in the group chat. Nobody typed anything. Not even the host. 

Then.

“Anyone else?” The Snufkin profile picture user asked. “Going once!” 

There was no response. 

“Going twice?” 

Same as before.

“Three times?”

For a moment, the chat said someone was typing. The two men held their breath in anticipation, as they waited for the amount the competitor would write. 

They stopped typing. 

“And the butter is sold to… Facebook user Espen Berg!” A happy face emoji appeared after those words. “Espen, please private message me via Facebook. Everyone else—thank you for participating! Have a nice day!”

His roommate twisted his head to Sigurd, their jaw dropping. Their pale hand went over their mouth as he stared at his friend in shock. “S-Sigurd…” he started. “W… we won. Holy shit, we actually won.”

A slight smirk formed on the Norwegian’s face. He cocked an eyebrow up, and released a tiny huff of a chuckle. “See? What did I tell you?” Nudged the human on the shoulder, while he pointed at the screen again. “Now go contact that Finn.”

And as his roommate did just that, he finally noticed the name of the user. 

Tino. Tino Vainamainen. 

Of course. He should’ve immediately known that when the Finn had that iconic Snufkin profile picture. A long suffering sigh came from the nation, as he got up to put his wallet back in its place, and grab a large cup of coffee. He always needed it whenever he had to deal with the Nordic’s bullshit. Which seemed to be always, even in the most mundane sort of everyday life. 

Days later, when the delivery package arrived at their doorstep, they looked at each other in excitement before Espen raced towards the door. He swung it open, to see a person holding a large package for them. The delivery service handed them their possession, and let them sign the needed papers for it with a smile. His roommate thanked them with a large grin of his own, and went back to their complex. 

After opening the package, they took photos of the butter, posing with their delivery, and admiring the delicious ingredient in all of its fine beauty. Eventually, Espen went off to text his friends and families of his accomplishment, while the nation was left with the butter. On his phone, he went on the messages app, to text his Icelandic brother before he paused. 

There was a better way to announce the news.

He exited the messages app, and onto the Facebook app. Social media—has never been the Norewegian’s thing. He’s been much too involved with other people and nations to have the internet ever replace face-to-face interaction. That was why he took no heed of the multiple warnings from other nations when he decided to room with a human to quell his need for social interaction. 

Not being able to live with someone… could be incredibly lonely, he never truly realized that till the twenty-first century. Sure, Tino may have reminded him that “humans have a short lifespan” while Eirikur might have cautioned about “causing him confusion,” but none of the aforementioned things have occurred yet, and he was still clinging on to that hope. Good things… never have lasted for beings such as themselves, but Espen certainly has. And Sigurd hoped he’d last for more years to come, despite the odds humanity faced. He was a person of hope, contrary to popular belief. He hoped, and he hoped so much that it was overwhelming. And that. Was dangerous for nations.

Sigurd took a deep breath to calm down. Being alone with his thoughts was never a good thing—they felt suffocating sometimes. He shook his head out his puzzling thoughts, and went to his profile page, back to his main task. Light hearted things, that's what he’s supposed to be doing. A huff of breath came from the eldritch being, as he tapped onto his picture. The Norwegian changed the drab, bland, image of the stereotypical man Facebook assigned, to the package he opened back in the kitchen table. A new post went up on his feed, about how he altered his photo from before.

A few minutes passed, and the Nordic nation received notifications from his friends and family. Concerns came from non-Nordic nations, such as America or Canada. Meanwhile, sarcastic, jabbing, remarks appeared from his Icelandic brother, which were liked by Hong Kong, of course. (He swore they had some kind of relationship somewhere.) The only one who seemed not confused or mocking, was Tino, who had liked the post with a smiley face emoji, the same one used in the auction. The Norewegian felt his lips turned upright to form a smile, while he stood up and called to his roommate for lighting the next taper.

The third _Adventsgaver_ passed without a sound of complaint from the men. 


	5. Magnus’s Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a danish man helps save the day :D

In the end, it is the people of Denmark that saved the nation from going on without a proper buttery Jul.

His savior arrived on a large, efficient, steamboat, a large grin stretched across his freckled face. The Danish man practically came tumbling out from the gates with a fit of laughter. The scarf strung on his neck flopped against the wind, tumbling onto his face. He brushed the accessory aside, and brought his hand up to his forehead to block the flurry of snow that never seemed to stop in this time of year. 

Sigurd could see how he immediately went searching, his eyes darted around for him, scanning the area multiple times with speed. Eventually, the man spotted him in the wave of Norewegians. Paying no heed to the yellow warning sign of a slippery deck, he rushed forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. He grabbed onto the nearby gate for support while clutching on a large box wrapped in ribbon. Meanwhile, his furry hat was held by his other hand amidst the harsh-blowing winds. His shoulders shook furiously from the cold. Sigurd released a sigh at his foolery, before sliding over to where the man was desperately clinging on.

If this was anyone else, they would be absolutely miserable from the weather instead of the Dane’s permanent cheer. The Norewegian always forgot how unused to his fellow Nordic was to the nearly freezing temperatures. The nations up north experienced much worse compared to his flatland regions, with Finland receiving the worst cold weather. Norway and Sweden always paled in comparison. Even Iceland didn’t have as low of temperatures. His pondering was only paused when his fellow nation poked his shoulder to gain his attention. Tilting his head, he looked at the blonde once more, and held back a chuckle of amusement. 

“Sigurd!” The Dane greeted excitedly. There was never a time he wasn’t so cheery, especially in this day and age. Lack of constant warring between European nations always made things… not necessarily easier per say, but more chances to enjoy the tranquility.

At least, that was the case for the Norewegain. He no longer had to worry about famines caused by other nations, or invasion of land. Just treaties and tedious trade agreements. Wasn’t the ideal, but certainly wasn’t the worst for the Norewegain. Just… peaceful enough to deal with. That was enough for him. 

“How are you, my man? You’re doing good in this freezing weather, right?” The Dane’s voice pulled him out his thoughts. His hand lingering on his hat went down to his scarf, where the blonde adjusted his red and white accessory. “I hope so. Wouldn’t want you to be miserable out here! Especially with recent events.”

“Ya, of course. I think you’re the only Nordic who isn’t resistant to this weather. Everyone else is fine.” He couldn’t help teasing his favorite country, even if he shouted, “Sigurd!” and caught the attention of several bewildered citizens. He watched as the man let his laughter echo throughout the bay, while he had a soft, almost fond sort of smile reserved for the Dane. His hand rested on the chains of the gate, while he admired his friend in all of his glory. With the sun’s haze, and the onslaught of white thrown in his way, he was practically glowing. Bright and bold, that was the Dane’s nature. And Sigurd wouldn’t—couldn’t ask for any less.

As he waited for the laughter to still to a stop, his attention came to the object in his hand. His blue eyes drifted downward to the box. Curiosity struck Sigurd, much like a tiger in the night. Looking back up to the blonde, Sigurd questioned, “Magnus… What's the present for?” He pointed at the large object in his hands. Covered in shiny wrapping paper, and neatly laced ribbon, it was a beauty to the eye. “Is it another secret present for Eirikur again? It better not be too expensive, otherwise he’ll feel guilty about using it. That’s what happened when you gave him those knitted blankets of yours.”

Magnus snooker his head, his grin getting even bigger in size. “Nope, guess again!” When Sigurd fixated him with a pointed, long, look, the Danish man pouted. “Geez, bro! You’re so impatient! Just take the gift!” He shoved it into Sigurd.

He stared at him for a moment. “You got something? For me?” He looked down at the box, and shook it. “What’s in there? If it’s like the joke gift Berwald texted me about from last year, then I’m not taking it.”

Magnus frowned. “It’s not that, I swear! And all I did was give him a toy goat to celebrate the Gävlebocken!”

“It was a burnt Gävlebocken though.”

“Well, it has to be accurate to real life! It’s not my fault the goat keeps on being burnt or ruined by others!” The Dane protested with a huff of his own. He crossed his arms across his chest. “Now open your gift!” At Sigurd’s reluctant stare, he added, “You’ll enjoy it, I promise!”

With one last look, Sigurd gave the nation a long-standing gaze before he looked down at the present. Much like Magnus’s scarf, it was the colors of the Danish flags. A bright red wrapping paper with white ribbon on top. He held it within the confines of his arms, before he leaned against the same structure as the Dane. He let the winds rustled past him, watching as the ribbon blew with the wind. The man looked up to Dane for encouragement, to which he offered a grin, and a nod. Took a deep breath, and pulled the white thread off, till it was completely unlaced. He admired the beautifully wrapping paper the Dane chose, before beginning to open the box. He scratched the clear tape across the wrapping paper, trying to remove the sticky material without ruining the fine paper itself. From nearby, he could hear Magnus attempting to muffle out his laughter.

“Shut it, Dane.” He gave a mock glare to the nation, and a dramatic show of rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

Eventually, Sigurd gave up neatly opening the present. Instead, he ripped the paper off, tearing it into mere shreds. It flew to the deck, where Magnus helped pick up the scraps. The trash went into his pockets, where the cold Nordic winds couldn’t blow it any longer. 

Finally, he unwrapped the gift. Sigurd gave Magnus a long stare one last time, before he looked down at his upending gift.

Inside, laid his dream. A large quantity of containers of butter. Riches galore. Just what seemed to be endless and endless amounts of the special ingredients were inside the large box. He could give some to Espen, and then his family, and other people who lived in the apartments and the—

He took a deep breath, and brought his hand to his face to stop the smile beginning to form. “I-its the crappy kind.” He snorted, attempting to keep his cool facade up. Didn’t stop the sniffle from the man, nor the tremble of his lips. A soft, tender feeling grew in his heart while the Dane let out another round of boisterous laughter. He forgot how stupidly caring Magnus could be. Especially with his gifts for the season. 

God, he was such an old man sometimes. Curse the Dane and his wonderful, caring, self.

If Magnus noticed his sudden fit of emotions, he didn’t tell him. Instead, he teased, “C’mon Sig! Beggars can’t be choosers!” The nation nudged him playfully with a smirk adorning his face. 

Magnus was right. He really did have no choice in the matter. Not when the other Nordics (besides Finland) were selfishly hoarding the food to themselves. And besides, losing all that butter would be a waste. Both economically and environmentally. The Norwegian relented with a sigh and took the butter. “At least you and your people ended the smør-panik. Thank you, Magnus.” Using only his free hand, he gave his long-time buddy a tight hug. 

With hand in hand, they went off to his apartment, and made julebrød together, while lighting the final candle for Adventsgaver. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, that was a long ride! it took me nearly a month to write all that, and im not sure how i feel about this fic overall…it’s not amazing to say the least, but i really did enjoy writing it. i've decided to make it after i've heard so many jokes about the crisis, and many people wondering how it would be personified. i hope this was an accurate representation. i've personally never experienced it, nor have been to norway, so i am aware how much of this is basing it off of guesswork and articles. feel free to check it out down in the comments, i'm sure you’ll find them interesting. it’s where i got most of my facts from. take care, and i hope you enjoy this norway-centric fic :)
> 
> sources  
> https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.theguardian.com/world/2011/dec/14/norwegian-butter-crisis-shortage-christmas (article about the butter crisis)  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norwegian_butter_crisis (butter crisis Wikipedia page)   
> https://www.whychristmas.com/cultures/norway.shtml (Norwegian Christmas culture)  
> http://norwayathome.info/advent-in-norway/ (Advent Calendar)  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gävle_goat (Gälve goat)


End file.
